


Letting Go

by bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies



Series: Voltron NSFW Week [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Insecurities, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Secrets, Voltron NSFW Week, heaping spoonful of feels sprinkled over the whole thing, keith has the biggest heart, keith needs to wash out his mouth with soap, nothing too heavy Shiro's gotta slowly get back into it tbh, references to past trauma/PTSD, they don't get to ALL the things they discuss but they do get to all the things I tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies/pseuds/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies
Summary: “What’s wrong?”  Keith asks, thumb stroking the strip of skin on his stomach where his t-shirt rides up, the touch comforting and soft.Shiro shakes his head.  He can’t tell him.  He’ll undoubtedly think it’s just some fucked-up side effect of his imprisonment, something that needs to fixed and gotten rid of, or at the very least he’ll think that Shiro is a poor leader if he shows he likes to indulge in his submissive side.  He can’t risk that, not when he has to lead Voltron.Keith kisses the back of his neck.  “I’m not the red paladin talking to the black paladin,” he says quietly.  “I’m just Keith, talking to Shiro.”Shiro closes his eyes.  Even without him saying anything, Keith can already tell what he’s feeling.  Keith just understands him, in a way Shiro has seldom felt with anyone else before.  Maybe… maybe he can tell him.





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> Alright I originally wrote days 1 and 3 together in “three’s a party, not a crowd”, but then after I finished all the prompts I noticed there was no sheith and that’s just a tragedy tbh, so here, have two for day 3: secrets. (It’s like mildly secret-y but w/e shhhh)

Every scar has its story.

Granted, Shiro doesn’t remember all of them.  He has been in far too many battles to remember where every twisted line came from, and he still has a lot of memories that are locked away by amnesia.  He remembers most of the big ones, though; a splash of puckered flesh across his shoulder left behind after an acid-spitting alien’s attack in the arena, a ropey-looking ridge of raised skin slashing across his left forearm where it had healed poorly, a deadly twist carved around his hip, a thin scar on his abdomen that looks harmless until you realize its twin is on his back, the path of the alien’s claw nearly piercing his liver on the way through… Oddly enough, he doesn’t actually remember how he got the prominent scar across the bridge of his nose.  It is just one of the many memories kept under lock and key, either through the power of the druids or by his own brain’s subconscious effort to preserve his sanity.  

Not all of his scars are from his time as a gladiator, though.  Shiro had been an adventurous boy when growing up, and adventurous children tend to amass their own collection of minor wounds and bumps and bruises, some that fade and other less so.  There is the small, barely-noticeable white line on his forehead where he knocked his head on his grandmother’s heavy wooden coffee table when he was three years old.  Falling out of a tree in fifth grade led to a branch-pierced puncture wound on his calf, the mark now bisected by the slash of some alien’s blade from the arena.  There is a line of mottled-looking skin up his right shin from the time in high school where he slipped while climbing some volcanic-based rocks on a family trip to Hawaii and scraped his leg up pretty badly.  And then there was the faded friction burn around his wrists from an incident in college -- well, around only his left wrist, now -- from his first forray into the world of sexual experimentation.  He hadn’t been very smart about it, admittedly.  Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten drunk at a friend’s houseparty, retreated into one of the bedrooms with an attractive stranger, and in the heat of the moment of getting undressed, asked his partner to tie his wrists to the headboard with his belt.  Not his wisest decision.  It had been fun, yes, and exceptionally hot.  Dealing with the friction burns on his wrists in the ensuing weeks was not.  But they had healed, only leaving a few thin, light scars around his wrists, which for a while served as a physical reminder to know his limits and do some research before hastily jumping into things.  And research he did; the following string of relationships, one-night-stands, and trips to a local dungeon were much, much more enjoyable once he knew what he was doing an approached it with a more level head.  Patience yielded virtue, as well as focus.  

Shiro traces his finger around the remaining scar around his left wrist, thoughtful.  His year in Galra captivity had affected many things about himself.  Not only did he gain muscle and fighting experience, as well as enough scars to look like a turkey carved by a drunken uncle on Thanksgiving Day, the Galra changed parts of Shiro’s habits and mental state.  He has trouble sleeping through the night, too used to being woken up every few hours by the guards banging on the cell door and laughing cruelly as they take another prisoner away for the gladiator ring.  He used to worry his lip between his teeth when he was anxious, a habit he picked up in elementary school, but he quickly realized it was a visible sign of fear or weakness and dropped it.  Fourteen years of his mother nagging at him to stop gnawing on his lip, and all it took to quit was a Galra guard leering at him knowingly before singling him out of the lineup.  

There were other things, too, less noticeable until Keith, who has known him since before the Kerberos mission, pointed them out.  He is more stoic now, and openly jokes less.  His fighting style is now vastly different from the hand-to-hand practices at the Garrison, due to his being smaller than most of the aliens he fought against in the ring.  He tends to curl up in his sleep, instead of sprawling out and nearly pushing Keith off the bed, as he had sometimes been prone to doing in the past.  He jumps when someone touches him from behind unless he has heard them approach, and he knows the footsteps of the paladins and two Alteans by heart so he can identify them without seeing them.  And being restrained sends his body into a panic, after too many times being strapped down to Galra medical tables.  

That is a concern that, while it isn’t pressing, lurks at the back of his mind, tugging at deep parts of his psyche.  Before the Kerberos mission, he loved bondage; being tied up and immobilized during sex, completely at the mercy of his partner.  There had even been times at the Garrison after a particularly rough or stressful few weeks, where he would sneak off base and go a couple towns over to a dungeon just to blow off steam and relax, returning to his dorm hours later with bruises that would easily be hidden under his uniform and would serve as a focus point in the coming days.  Once he graduated and became a senior officer, he craved those nights even more, as he was given more duties and more responsibilities, and all the stress that came with the job.  It was liberating, to put control into someone else’s hands for a while and let them be the one in charge, to be tied up until he couldn’t move and slowly teased and tortured with some toy.  But that was before.  Now, he is far more familiar with a much more sinister form of torture.  There are dozens of thick, ropey scars on his back from a real whip wielded with truly sadistic malice, rather than easily-healing welts from a flogger in the hand of someone who would stop as soon as he uttered a certain word.  His forearms and legs now bear wide, shallow marks from bands of some unearthly material being tightened around them, binding him to the druids’ table even as he struggled against them and screamed in pain.  The release of subspace that he once craved had not even once entered his thoughts since being captured, pushed out by the much more primal concern of simply staying alive.  Until now.  Until he escaped, returned to Earth, and was catapulted back into outer space just as fast, embarking on an adventure even bigger than the expedition to Kerberos.  Until he and Keith started becoming more intimate with each other, stealing kisses between training and meals and sleeping beside each other at night.  

Now, those thoughts were beginning to come back to him, whispering what-if’s in the dead of night or the quiet early-morning hours waiting for Keith to wake up.  Not all of those what-if’s are good, though.  What if Keith thought it was weird?  What if he saw Shiro as an incapable leader because of it?  What if trying it triggered another flashback?  What if he lost control of himself and lashed out in defense of a danger that was no longer there and he ended up hurting Keith?  What if he just wasn’t into it, anymore?  What if, like his arm and his sleep and his secure mental state, the Galra had taken this away from him, too?  That thought scared him most of all, that they could take something that had brought him so much enjoyment and pleasure, the experiences marred and distorted like corrosion on silver.

A soft, sleepy sound comes from his left as Keith shifts, rolling closer to Shiro.  “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but you’re thinking too hard.”  The red paladin mumbles, sliding an arm over Shiro’s chest.  “Allura gave us the morning off.  Relax.”  

Shiro lets out a tense sigh, the inside of his mouth tasting bitter.  He can’t just  _ relax _ ; he has to be the black paladin, the head of Voltron, the team leader, the paladins’ combat instructor, Allura’s second-in-command for diplomatic negotiations, an ambassador of peace in quadrants ravaged by the war, the one calling the shots in battle… Suddenly it all becomes too much and frustrated tears prick at his eyes as a heaviness weighs on his heart and crushes him, and he wants it  _ gone _ but he can’t lift it himself…

“Shiro?”  Keith picks his head up, looking down at him in concern.  “Hey, are you okay?”  

“I’m fine.”  Shiro bites out sharply, rolling onto his side and turning away from Keith.  His boyfriend, predictably, doesn’t buy it for a second, and slots himself against Shiro’s back, winding an arm over his side.  

“What’s wrong?”  Keith asks, thumb stroking the strip of skin on his stomach where his t-shirt rides up, the touch comforting and soft.  

Shiro shakes his head.  He can’t tell him.  He’ll undoubtedly think it’s just some fucked-up side effect of his imprisonment, something that needs to fixed and gotten rid of, or at the very least he’ll think that Shiro is a poor leader if he shows he likes to indulge in his submissive side.  He can’t risk that, not when he has to lead Voltron.  

Keith kisses the back of his neck.  “I’m not the red paladin talking to the black paladin,” he says quietly.  “I’m just Keith, talking to Shiro.”  

Shiro closes his eyes.  Even without him saying anything, Keith can already tell what he’s feeling.  Keith just  _ understands  _ him, in a way Shiro has seldom felt with anyone else before.  Maybe… maybe he can tell him his secret.  He rolls over, and Keith’s arm stays draped over his side, fingers now brushing the small of his back.  He still can’t meet Keith’s eyes as he starts to speak.  “Before the Kerberos mission, I… I was into BDSM.  The submissive side, specifically.  I used it as a way to relieve stress.  And… I want to try getting into that again.  But…”  He trails off, uncertain, and can feel Keith’s eyes on him, watching carefully.

“But what?”  He asks.

“I didn’t know… what you’d think of it.”  Shiro admits.  “If you’d think I’m a bad leader or sick in the head or something.”

“Shiro, of course not,” Keith pulls him closer for a hug.  “Of course I don’t think that.  And I can understand wanting to take the weight off your shoulders for a while.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”  Still, though, there is something else, some question hanging on the edges of his words.  

“But what?”  Shiro asks, pulling back just enough to look at Keith’s face.  The other man’s lip twists unconsciously, clearly uncertain.

“I mean, I don’t want to assume, but… even after everything that’s been done to you…?”

“That’s… different.”  Shiro sighs.  “I consent to a scene; I trust the other person and they trust me.  I have the power to safeword out if it gets to be too much.  What the Galra did… it’s completely different.  All they wanted to do was cause me pain, and nothing was built on anything remotely similar to trust.”

“It’s like the difference between handing someone the reins and having them be taken from you.”  Keith muses.

“Exactly.”  Shiro nods.  “And I would just let it be, but I don’t I want to give them this, too.  Something that was so good before… I don’t want them to take that away from me.”

Keith’s fingers slip under the hem of his t-shirt, tracing circles over the small of his back.  “And you want to hand those reins over to me?”

“If you’re okay with it.”  Shiro clarifies.  He knew not everyone was into it, and he wouldn’t push Keith if he didn’t want to do it.

“I think I like the idea.”  Keith says.  “At the very least, I like the idea of you being able to relieve some stress and relax.”  He leans up and presses a kiss to Shiro’s forehead.  “Did you want to try it now, or do you need some more time to think it over?”  

“Now?”  Shiro hedges, feeling his cheeks pink a little.  “I’ve already taken a lot of time to think it over.”

“Probably  _ over _ -thinking it and making yourself worry.”  Keith cups the side of his face and rubs his thumb over Shiro’s cheek, a smile softening the reprimand.  “I’ve told you not to bottle things up.”             

“I’ll… try not to, in the future.”  Shiro acquiesces.  He knows that is one of his flaws.  To be fair, Keith isn’t any better.  As much as they each are prone to bottling things up, they both remind each other not to do the same, so it evens out.  They keep each other balanced.  

“Good.”  Keith rewards him with a soft peck on the lips.  “Now, quick chat about limits, before we start?”

Shiro nods, thinking that would be a good idea.  “Should probably start off light, after being out of it for so long.  Maybe no impact play, for now.  I was always more into the physical side before, but maybe talking would be a good way to ease back into it, like dirty talk.  Before, I really liked being tied up, but I don’t know if that’s going to trigger a flashback or something, so we need to be prepared for that to go south, just in case.  You can put your hand on my throat and use some pressure but no hardcore breathplay, at least until I know I’m not going to have a flashback.  Definitely no medical play or anything having to do with being a slave or a gladiator.”  That would hit too close to home, now.  

“Gotcha.”  Keith says.  “What’s your safeword?”   

Shiro considers it briefly.  “Lion if I need to slow down.  Voltron if I need it to stop.”  He looks up at Keith.  “You?”

“Same.”  Keith nods.  “Anything else?”

Shiro thinks about it.  “No blindfolds.  I need to see that it’s you.”  

Keith offers him a smile and squeezes his hand.  “So, hand-jobs, blow-jobs… How much do you want to do?”

“Anything we do regularly is fair game.”  Shiro says.  “I just really want to be the sub and let go for a while.  Preferably while tied up.”  

“Then let’s get started on that,” Keith murmurs, his voice dropping seductively as he gently rolls Shiro onto his back and leans over him to coax him into a deep kiss.  

Shiro lets himself sink back against the blankets, eyes falling closed as his head tips back.  He allows Keith to control the pace of the kiss, but the other man keeps it slow and languid.  Shiro can feel himself relaxing more and more by the second, letting Keith gradually turn him into a boneless puddle with just his tongue and the hand that slides its way up the front of his shirt, warm palm smoothing over the patchwork of scars decorating his skin.  

Keith finally pulls back and smiles at him.  “Take off your shirt.”  He sits up and straddles Shiro’s hips, pulling his own shirt off as Shiro wiggles his off too.  He starts to toss it over the side of the bed, but Keith makes a noise of protest and holds his hand out.  “Give it to me.”

Confused, Shiro hands it over.  Keith rolls each of the shirts into a twist and ties them together.  Shiro’s brow furrows, suddenly feeling uneasy.  “You’re not gonna…? Towel-snap me, are you?”  He asks, breaking scene for a moment.  

Keith looks up, blinking.  “Oh, god no.”  

That’s a relief.  “Then what…?”  

“We don’t have a rope or anything.”  Keith explains, holding up the length of tied-together t-shirts.  

“Ah, gotcha.”  Shiro nods, understanding.  “Alright, continue.”  

Keith leans down to press another kiss to his lips, his expression shifting as the scene settles back into place.  His fingers find their way around Shiro’s wrists and gently move them up above his head.  Holding both of them in one hand, he reaches for the makeshift rope and winds it around his wrists and between the slats of the headboard.  “You could break out of this, if you really wanted to,” Keith tells him carefully, his voice serious for a moment before dipping back to that low, seductive timbre as he smooths his palms down Shiro’s arms.  “But it’s the best we have right now.  So I’m going to need to you exercise a little mental restraint.  Keep your hands up there, and I might just give you a reward.  If you break my little invention for no reason, though, I’ll have to punish you.”  Keith cups his chin and runs a thumb over his lips, eyes dark and warm.  “Think you can do that?”  

Shiro nods, speechless.  The words, combined with that tone and the careful reminders that this was just a scene and was all consensual, it knocked something loose in his chest that he hasn’t felt in so, so long.

“Good.”  Keith nods, and the praise shoots right through Shiro like molten magma straight to his gut, making his dick twitch.  The glint in Keith’s eye and the way he subtly grinds back against it tells him he noticed.  He slides his hands up, and then down Shiro’s arms again, warm palms smoothing over scar-crossed muscle.  “Next time, I want to get you some real cuffs, instead of this flimsy t-shirt.  Some nice black leather, with a soft lining.  Can’t have you hurting your wrists, now, can we?  I’ll put those on you and fuck you nice and slow, until you’re writhing and pulling against the cuffs, but you won’t be able to do anything but take what I give you, and you know I’ll always give you what you need.”   

A whine creeps up his throat, eyes falling closed at the image Keith is painting.  God, yes, he wants that.  He wants to surrender everything to Keith and let him be in complete control.  He’s the only one he trusts with that. 

Keith leans down and slides his lips across Shiro’s throat.  “Do you want me to mark you up, baby?  So everyone knows you’re mine?”  He murmurs the words against his ear, warm puffs of breath and the promise of what will come sending a pleasant shiver up Shiro’s spine.  

“Yes, please,” he gasps, tilting his head to give him better access.

“So polite.”  Keith kisses just under his ear.  “Good boy.”  

Shiro’s insides squirm and he shifts with them, rubbing his thighs together.  

“Patience.”  Keith chides him gently, nipping at a spot low on his throat.  “Patience yields focus.”

Shiro can feel him smirking against his neck.  Oh, Shiro is focused, alright.  He feels hyper-aware of every sensation, from the wet kisses Keith is leaving on his throat to the heat coiled in his gut to the delicious pressure around his bound wrists.  Every tiny shift of movement has his focus lasering in on a different sensation, until he feels scattered because  _ everything  _ feels so good… Maybe he wasn’t as focused as he thought he was.  But maybe he didn’t need to be.  

Just then, Keith sucks hard on the hickey he is making and Shiro groans, arching up and trying to grind up into the body above him.  

Keith sits back up and runs a thumb over the mark he made against the column of Shiro’s throat, the area sore and sensitive.  “Beautiful.”  Keith murmurs, but he’s looking at Shiro’s face rather than his neck.  Warm palms smooth further down his chest, fingers like pinpricks of fire.  “I can’t wait until I can tie you up properly,” Keith tells him in a low voice.  “Do you want that?  Want me to tie you up so tight you can’t move?”  Shiro gasps out a fragmented ‘ _ yes _ ’, brain fizzling out at the idea and at the fingers lightly circling his nipples.  “Mm, I think you would look stunning in shibari, all those ropes crossing over and around you… Maybe we can even get some red rope.  You look so good in red.”  Keith smirks and leans down to drop a kiss to his left pec, right over his heart, before he sets to work sucking another hickey there.  Shiro arches his back and grinds up against Keith’s ass seated on his hips, seeking friction for his trapped cock.  Keith sits back up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  “See?  Red suits you.”  His gaze drops to Shiro’s chest again.  “Think we can get your nipples all red, too?”  He hums, leaning down while shifting to kneel between Shiro’s thighs, nudging his knees apart.  Shiro gasps as he pinches his left nipple while roughly laving his tongue over the right.  Keith keeps pinching and sucking his chest until his nipples are flushed red and sore, the kiss-bitten nubs sensitive as Keith’s saliva cools on his skin.  

“Keith… please…” Shiro groans, trying in vain to rub against him.  

“Is that really what you want to call me?”  Keith purrs.  Underneath the teasing edged with a threat is a hint of an honest question.  The careful wording is not lost on Shiro.  Keith is giving him the freedom to choose the direction of their encounter, willing to indulge Shiro in whatever kinks he has.  His mind flicks over a series of titles before settling on an old favorite, a guilty pleasure that had him secretly suppressing giggles his first couple of weeks at the Garrison.

“Please… sir…” Shiro mumbles, feeling his cheeks flush.  Yet another secret he entrusts to Keith.

“Better, but that didn’t sound like you really want it.”  Keith takes his hands away from his body.

“Please fuck me, sir!”  The volume of his voice surprises even himself, but he  _ needs  _ to get Keith’s hands on him again.  And he does, as Keith smooths his hands up his waist and lets his blunt nails scratch against his ribs lightly on the way down.

“Good boy.”  Keith smiles, and Shiro’s legs tighten around his waist reflexively.  “I think you almost deserve your reward.”  

Shiro stills, his cognitive abilities poking out through the pleasant hazy fog around his thoughts.  “Almost?”

“You’re getting there.”  Keith assures him, popping open the button of Shiro’s pants.  “But we don’t want this to be over too soon.  All this stress you’ve been carrying around… You’re not going anywhere until I’ve gotten you so fucked out and relaxed that you can’t even remember your own name.”  

Shiro throws his head back with a groan, letting Keith work his pants down his legs.  He shivers as the cool air hits his cock.  God, what he wouldn’t do to get Keith’s mouth around him, or get Keith’s cock in his mouth.  

Keith tosses Shiro’s pants over the side of the bed and settles himself between his legs, rubbing his thighs as he looks down at him thoughtfully.  “There are so many things I want to do to you, baby…” he hooks his hands under Shiro’s knees and pushes his legs up until his thighs are touching his chest, folding him in half and leaving him completely exposed.  “I want to tie your legs to your chest like this and eat you out until your hole is loose and you’re  _ begging  _ me to fuck you.”  Keith presses down on his legs, the tension burning in his thighs and back, and Shiro lets out a desperate keen because he can’t even move and  _ God  _ does he want that.  He twists his fingers into the extra t-shirt fabric tied around his wrists, fighting the urge to reach down and jerk himself off.  

Keith slowly lowers his legs again, pressing his thighs into the mattress and spreading his legs wide.  “Unfortunately, that’ll have to wait.  But don’t worry, baby, we’ll get you any kind of restraints your heart desires.  For now, though…” Keith reaches over him and opens the drawer of the bedside table, retrieving a bottle of lube.  After he pushes the drawer closed again, he taps a finger against Shiro’s wrists, still bound above his head.  “You’ve done a good job keeping your hands up there.  I think you deserve a little reward for that, don’t you?”

“Yes, please…” Shiro gasps, dizzy at the promise of getting some sort of relief.  Keith bends down and licks a broad stripe up his cock, hands gripping his hips to stop Shiro from bucking up.  He takes the head into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, and Shiro cries out at the stimulation.  A hand comes up to fist around the base of his cock as Keith bobs further down, the pressure almost painful in the most delicious way possible.  Keith swallows around him, and Shiro damn near comes just from that.  Only… he can’t, he realizes, not with the way Keith is gripping him.  He squirms, keening, and Keith just responds by humming.  The message is clear; Shiro won’t be able to come -- won’t be  _ allowed  _ to come --until Keith lets him.  He is entirely at his mercy, and he loves it.  

It feels like it has been an eternity of Shiro gasping and moaning out incoherent fragments of sentences and his name before Keith finally pulls off with a  _ pop _ .  “That was a nice warm-up.”  Keith says casually as he shucks off his pants, casting a knowing smirk at Shiro’s heaving chest and flushed, vacant expression.  

“Please…  _ please _ , sir, fuck… I need it, please…”  Shiro whines as a lubed finger presses over his hole without actually going in.

“You want it that bad?”  Keith hums, tilting his head innocently, as if he hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes riling him up.  

Shiro bobs his head vigorously, desperate.  

“Show me.”  Keith demands.  “Show me what you want.”  

That’s all the permission Shiro needs to rock back against the finger, moaning when it finally slips inside.  He doesn’t stop, thrusting up to meet Keith’s movements as he starts moving his finger in and out, pushing deeper every time.  

“Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers…” Keith purrs, slipping another finger in and scissoring them.  “One of these days, I’m going to tie your hands behind your back and watch you ride me.  Or maybe I’ll ride you, so slowly it’ll make you go crazy, and there won’t be anything you can do about it.”  

“ _ Fuck _ …” Shiro whispers, his cock jumping just from imagining it.  Keith slips three fingers into him and crooks them just right, and Shiro keens as stars erupt on the fringes of his vision.  When the fingers retract, he whines at the loss and is just barely cognizant enough to realize Keith is chuckling at him.  

“You ready for me?”  Keith asks, hitching one of Shiro’s legs over his shoulder as he lines himself up.  

“ _ Yes _ …”  Shiro’s eyes flutter closed as Keith pushes in, so achingly slow.  The head of his cock brushes against his prostate before Keith pulls back out again, just as slow.  Shiro whines; any other day, he would love this torturously slow pace, would love to be put in subspace and fucked slow and deep for hours until he is boneless and incoherent, but it has been too long and he needs release  _ now _ .  “Faster…” he gasps, hips grinding in little circles as he tries to get Keith to hit that spot inside him again.  

“Do you really want to go faster?”  Keith asks, voice low.

Shiro bobs his head.  “Keith, sir, fuck me harder,  _ please _ ,” he begs, eyes wide-open and desperate.  

Keith gives him a feral grin and pushes his knees up to his chest again, folding him in half as he slams back in.  Shiro cries out, throwing his head back as the new angle hits right on his prostate.  Keith pounds into him, using his grip on Shiro’s legs as leverage to go harder and faster.  The position means that Shiro can’t move, can’t get any sort of control as he is fucked, Keith setting a pace like a jackhammer.  All Shiro can do is moan and let himself get swept away in the pleasure that swallows him, rushes and builds like a tidal wave before it crashes over him.  He comes screaming Keith’s name, harder than he has in a long time, hyper-sensitive chest tingling as his own come splashes over the smattering of hickies there.  Keith lowers his legs down again and thrusts into him several more times, until Shiro is shaking with overstimulation, then he pulls out and comes all over Shiro’s stomach, come mixing with his own.  Shiro lets out a low moan and his eyes flutter closed again.  He is only vaguely aware of weight shifting further down the mattress and the sound of running water from somewhere off to the right, only tuning back in when he feels a warm, damp washcloth wiping over his chest.  

“You doing okay?”  Keith asks, a hint of a smile in his voice.  

Shiro hums, content.  “Amazing…”  He drags his eyes open just as Keith is finishing up with his chest and starts wiping the excess lube from the insides of his thighs.  

Once he is done, Keith balls up the washcloth, aims, and chucks it in the direction of the laundry hamper in the corner.  It bounces off the open lid and falls into the basket, lid smacking closed after it.  “Hole in one,” Keith smiles impishly, fingertip stroking over Shiro’s reddened ass hole.  Shiro just chuckles at him.  Keith crawls up the bed and plops himself down near Shiro’s chest, reaching up to untie the makeshift rope from around his wrists.  Shiro could have done it himself, but he wanted to keep it on as long as he could.  He hasn’t felt this completely and totally relaxed since before the Kerberos expedition.  Keith checks his left wrist meticulously for any sign of injury, turning it over.  “I’m surprised this thing held the whole time.”  He comments, untying the now-wrinkled shirts and tossing them on the floor with their pants.  “I’m glad they didn’t leave any marks, though.”  

“Mm,” Shiro hums in contentment.  “I do want to get some cuffs or rope, though.  Maybe a collar, too.  And a vibrator?”

“Whatever you want.”  Keith promises, dropping a kiss to his temple as he lays down and pulls the blankets up over them both.  Shiro cuddles up next to him, sighing as Keith wraps him up in an embrace.  

“Keith,” Shiro drags his eyes open to look at him, even though sleep is already tugging at him.  “Thank you, for indulging me.”

“Thank you for confiding your secret to me.”  Keith curls a hand around the back of his neck, fingers scratching lightly at the short, buzzed hairs there.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone but you with it,” Shiro murmurs, closing his eyes again.  He feels Keith press a soft kiss to his forehead and lets the steady rhythm of Keith’s fingers against his scalp lull him off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> How is this one of the filthiest things I’ve written and yet they didn’t actually do that much kinky shit? Gosh-darned dirty talk, I guess. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Go wash ur hecking mouth out with soap, Keef.
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!


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